Walter
by Drucilla
Summary: A ficlet; a drabble; a glimpse into my thoughts on the early life of Walter. Rated for disturbing imagery.


A/N: Walter isn't mine. I just borrowed him. A random ficlet involving my speculations on why Walter became evil, what he did between his youth and his .. training? or whatever under Marten. etc. Rated for disturbing subject matter.  
  
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They had been friends, but it would still be rape. There was no doubt in either of their minds.  
  
"Melisande!"   
  
He was shouting, and even his voice didn't sound as it had in the past, in years gone by. She ran through the woods, stumbling over branches and rocks and other things obscured by the tears that blurred her vision. They ran into her mouth, hot, salty, tasting of sweat. Her mind darted back and forth between considering her current situation and wondering how in the nether hells they had ever gotten into this mess.  
  
"Melisande, gods damn it! You can't run away!"  
  
But she could, and she was. Twenty years hadn't made a lick of difference to his dark and brooding good looks, or her quiet beauty. They hadn't diminished the nimbleness in either set of fingers or the sharpness of their gaze. But the past twenty years had changed them both, there was no doubt in either mind of that, too. Her face had gone more to laughter and smiles than to grimness and scowls. His had gone more to deep lines of thought, worry, and sullen airs.   
  
She didn't know what had happened. All she knew was that there had been some sort of misunderstanding of the grossest kind. The fight, and then he had fled on horseback. She had waited at the window for him to return, lit the traditional candle. It must have been by the light of the candle that he had seen her, collapsed in his brother's arms, weeping out of worry for him. He must have misunderstood, thinking that she was taking comfort in Lew's presence in an entirely different way. It was the only thing she could think of.  
  
"Melisande!"  
  
She was so caught up in the past that she failed to take note of the present. Failed to set her feet carefully enough to avoid the sudden dips in the terrain, the trickiness of the brush. Her ankle twisted sharply to one side and she fell like a stone as pain shot up her leg. Insult to injury, or perhaps that was injury added to insult. Whichever.  
  
It didn't matter. He was on top of her in a matter of minutes.  
  
"You can't do this..." she gasped. It was all she could do to gasp at this point, the wind had been knocked entirely out of her. Was this how they were going to end? Lew dead of consumption, her chased down, hunted down in the woods, at the hands of the man they had both loved beyond all reason?  
  
"Melisande, you shouldn't have run..."   
  
"You didn't give me much choice..." her words were cut off as his mouth came down on hers, ferociously. It wasn't a kiss; it was the antithesis of that gentle gesture. Paradoxically, perversely, his free hand stroked her hair with the tenderness she remembered. His other hand pinned her wrists above her head.   
  
"What happened to us?" he moaned. Tears spilled onto her face, scalding where they hit. Even his tears weren't human anymore.  
  
"You changed... you became different. Evil..." she had to force the words out around his mouth, his tongue that filled her mouth, as much as she wanted to return the kiss with all the passion she could muster.   
  
His free hand tore itself from her matted hair and plunged into her clothing, ripping her skirt almost entirely off. Ripping down her underskirts, fumbling at the cross ties on his trousers. "You changed... I never changed until you ... you betrayed me."  
  
"I never betrayed you!" she shouted into his mouth, screaming, crying. Rage and pain slammed from her body to his, and back again. A contest of wills that neither was willing to lose, or even win. Power had laced through them both even when they had been young, happy, innocent. Now that power was turned corrupt and they struggled against each other with it.   
  
"You left me..." It was a plaintive whine, and it sounded very odd coming from his mouth.  
  
She sobbed. It hurt, those words from his lips, and the untruth of it all. "I would never have left you..." she whimpered even as he managed to break free of the cotton, wool, and she felt him slide into her as though they had always belonged together. Which, perhaps they had. But not like this. "Please, no!"  
  
"It's too late..." she felt the words rather than heard them, felt his mouth moving on hers. Long, scraggly, dark hair tangled and forced their heads together. Only a few times did she catch the glint of blue in the pale light of his face. The blue that had once been full of curiosity and, if not happiness, then at least contentment... it had all been subsumed by anger. The rhythm that pounded them both was more hate than love... love twisted and bound up in its own mistakes. It hurt, and she was very afraid.   
  
"Please..." He had bit her lip, or his, she could taste the blood. She could practically taste the sweat on their body. She could smell the pungent, milky odor of their fluids as he found some measure of release. "Please... let me go."  
  
"Walter..."  
  
"Please..." 


End file.
